


Outbreak

by Ricochet713



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Death, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gun Violence, I know it starts slow but just hang in there, I write too many zombie stories sorry not sorry, M/M, Medical Experimentation, Medical Torture, Slow Burn, So much angst, Zombie Apocalypse, if you came for smut you might have to wait a while
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-12 12:56:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7935376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ricochet713/pseuds/Ricochet713
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life has been pretty good for Jack lately; he works with the Idaho Falls Police Department and lives in a decent suburban home with his partner, Gabriel, a retired forensic investigations officer. In the space of a single night, their world crumbles down around them: when medical trials for a new miracle cure-all drug goes horribly wrong, escaped test patients exhibiting bizarre and violent behavior sweep through the country, infecting anyone they can get their un-dead hands on. The fight for survival begins, as well as the struggle to reassemble the shattered pieces of the lives survivors once had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Outbreak

There was no warning. No clues in the weeks or days before it happened, no series of suspicious events that led to the horror of that day; everything was as normal as it had always been. Jack got up, went to his unbearably dull office job at the Idaho Falls Police Department (God, he missed working in the field), came home to Gabriel cooking chicken paella and dancing around their kitchen to bad pop music. They ate dinner on the couch, laughed at terrible reality TV shows, swapped stories about their days. Jack was cleaning dishes when he heard Gabe call over to him. “Hey… Jack, come look at this.”

Setting the last dish aside to dry, Jack crossed back into the lounge room. “Yeah?” His gaze flicked over to the screen. The show they'd been watching had been suddenly interrupted; a panicked-looking newswoman stared out at them with wide eyes.

“… _Reports have come in from Seattle and surrounding towns of people exhibiting strange and extremely dangerous behaviour. Over the past hour, these reports have come in at an alarming rate, and only continue to increase_.”

“Seattle?” Gabe frowned. “That’s not far from here.”

Jack sat himself down next to Gabe; he recognised the faintest hint of anxiety in his partner’s voice.

“ _Authorities are warning people in the area to stay indoors_ ,” the newswoman continued. “ _Do not go outside and do not let anyone into your homes_.”

“Could be a hoax,” Jack muttered, wishing he believed it. “A prank, maybe?”

The frown on Gabe’s face deepened. “Looks too big to be a prank. But shit, Jack, it sounds like something out of a horror movie.”

He felt a hand brush against his own, and held it. Gabriel's hand trembled slightly, and Jack felt a delayed panic beginning to seep into his skin, cold and electric. What if wasn't a prank or trick? What if it was _real_ _?_ It struck him that they could be in serious danger, and breathing was suddenly difficult. His grip on Gabe's hand tightened.

“ _Those affected seem to all be showing obvious symptoms. Be wary of people exhibiting dark bruising around the eyes, bleeding from the mouth, purple marks across their skin, and showing erratic and violent behaviour_.” The newswoman disappeared for a moment, replaced by footage that seemed to have been taken on someone’s phone. They were filming through a window at the street below them, where people were running past. Trailing them were five staggering figures, clothes torn and bloodied, moving in a sickeningly inhuman way. The camera zoomed in on one of the figures, and though the image was heavily pixelated, Jack could clearly see that half their face was covered in a large purple mark. The newswoman returned. She looked even more frantic than before.

“ _We have just received an updated report. A state of emergency has been declared for all western states, and official warnings have been issued across the country. The most recent incidents have been recorded at small towns on the northern borders of Oregon and Idaho_.”

“Shit.” Jack stood up, his hand slipping free of Gabe’s. “We need to go.”

“ _It appears that victims of these attacks are developing symptoms similar to those of their attackers. This… This is confirmed as an outbreak of some sort of highly contagious virus. Please, everyone, stay indoors. Stay away from any victims and anyone showing symptoms. The military has been mobilised…_ ”

Jack was no longer listening. He crossed into the kitchen and began rummaging through the cupboards, pulling out cans and packets of food, talking as he went. “We need to get out of here, now. Those people, zombies, whatever they are, they’ll come through here in, what, hours? Less? Who knows how many could be infected by then.”

“Geez, Jack, you really have watched too many zombie movies…” Gabe laughed nervously, making Jack pause and turn around. Gabriel was usually cool, calm, and confident, with an easy-smile and a warm laugh. But now, the laugh was half-hearted, the smile was forced, the eyes were wide and afraid. Cracks split Jack’s heart at the sight.

In two steps he had his arms wrapped around Gabriel, holding him close, burying his face against his neck, drawing in his warmth as though it were for the last time – after what they’d just seen, it could be. Gabe lowered his chin onto Jack’s shoulder, and sighed. They stood like that in silence for a long moment.

“We’re gonna get through this, alright Gabe?” Jack whispered. “We’re gonna make it through whatever this shit is.”

“Yeah,” nodded Gabe. “Yeah, we will.”

Ten minutes later and they had two duffel bags loaded into Jack’s truck, containing a few days’ worth of food, clothes, and water. A few blankets were thrown in the back. Gabe pulled himself up into the passenger seat as Jack checked his phone one more time. “Latest reports are from a few miles north of here. They’re saying there’s over a hundred people confirmed infected, but up to 400 suspected cases.”

“Shit,” Gabe hissed through his teeth as he pulled the passenger-side door shut with a thud.

“We got a plan?”

Gabriel nodded. “We head for L.A. Got a few friends there from work. They'll help us out and give us somewhere to stay until this shit gets sorted out.”

“If it does get sorted out.” Jack set his phone down and turned the ignition.

They weren’t the only ones who’d decided to get out while they could. Cars zipped past them in all directions, rushing madly for the main highway; most drivers abandoned road rules, while others continued to wait patiently at red lights like nothing was wrong. Jack was one of the former. “Desperate times, desperate measures,” he told Gabriel, who chuckled quietly. “Just don’t let the office find out.”

They made good time out of the city, but one intersection out from the highway they met a barricade of flashing sirens. Military vehicles blocked the road, and armed soldiers waved at them to pull over and step out from their car. With an irritated growl, Jack obeyed, and Gabriel followed suit.

“I’m with the IFPD,” Jack barked, digging around his jacket pocket until he found his badge and held it out to the soldier. “Let us through, would you?”

The soldier barely glanced at it. “I don’t care who you’re with, you’re not getting through. Get back in the car, turn around, and go home.”

“Go home? You think these people are gonna be safe in their homes?”

“You trying to tell us how to do our job?”

“I’m trying to tell you how to keep these people alive and not infected.” Jack shook his head angrily, shoving his badge back into his pocket and pointing a finger at the soldier. “Look, I don’t know what the hell’s coming this way but it’s bad, I know that much. And I know hiding behind a door ain’t gonna keep our asses safe, so I’m getting out of here no matter who tries to stop me.”

The soldier bristled and raised his weapon. “Are you threatening me?”

Before the discussion could turn violent, Gabriel hurriedly stepped between them. “Hey, hey, cut that out.” He turned to Jack, resting his hands on the other man’s shoulders. “Look, it’s fine. We’ll go back. Alright?”

“Yeah, listen to the pretty boy!” The soldier sneered from behind Gabriel. Jack saw the man in front of him snap from calm to furious in an instant.

He whirled around. “ _The hell you say?_ You just crossed a line, pal!” He would’ve leapt for the other man before Jack could stop him if a sudden scream hadn’t frozen all three of them in place. More screams followed, then guttural cries and beastly snarls. Jack’s blood ran cold.

“Get back in the-!” He was interrupted as something hurled itself over the army van next to them, leaping through the air. A person - or the remains of one - with bruised, purple skin, covered in blood and Jack didn't want to know what. The soldier blasted it with a series of well-aimed rifle shots, and it dropped to the ground in a writhing heap, snarling. Another scrambled over the vehicle close behind the first, and this time the soldier wasn’t so quick. Mere metres in front of him, Jack saw the  _thing_ grab the soldier by his neck and lunge for his face, blood-stained teeth bared.

Jack tore his eyes away and scurried backwards, his heartbeat screaming in his ears, almost loud enough to drown out the screams of the soldier as he was mauled. Wildly, he looked around; he had to find Gabriel, make sure he was safe. A third figure half-leapt and half-fell from the roof of another army truck, and Jack heard a familiar yell, followed by a thump and the crash of breaking glass. “GABE!” Leaping to his feet, Jack whipped out his standard-issue police department pistol as he dashed around the truck to see Gabe on the ground, striking out wildly at the creature trying to get on top of him, snarling and snapping its bloodied jaws. Live-wire nerves surging to action, Jack had his pistol up, aimed and fired a single shot, right through its skull. Blood and grey matter spattered the ground, covering Gabriel, and the creature collapsed, limp.

Jack dropped to his knees, gripping Gabriel’s arms. “Gabe! Are you alright? Talk to me!”

Dazed, his face covered in red mess, Gabriel blinked for a moment. His chest heaved with his panting breaths, and he trembled violently in Jack’s grip. Then his eyes met Jack’s, something seemed to click, and he was back in control. “Shit,” he gasped. “Close one. Thanks, Jack.”

But there wasn’t any time for relief. More snarls were close behind them, and more screams. Nearby, Jack heard noises too horrifying for words as the poor soldier met his gruesome fate. Looping his arms around Gabe’s torso, Jack hauled him to his feet and practically shoved him back into the car before racing around the back of the truck to the driver’s side and jumping in. He shut the door and locked it, realised he hadn’t been breathing since he’d heard Gabe go down. “Did it get you?”

Gabe was breathless and shaken, trying to wipe the gore from his face with uncooperative hands, but he nodded. “Yeah. Don’t think it got me.” He checked himself over, smearing more blood over his clothes. “I’m good, I’m good.”

Jack could breathe again. “Good. Then let’s get out of here.” He slammed the gearstick into reverse as a new cluster of infected creatures forced their way around the barricade; gunfire rang out over the growl of the engine. The truck gave a creaky protest as Jack flicked it back into drive and floored the accelerator, ramming through a blood-drenched and purple-skinned zombie. They skirted two more, lurched over the curb, and skidded around the roadblock. One more turn and they hit the highway, and Idaho Falls was soon vanishing behind them. Jack leant back in his seat and glanced over at Gabriel. He was staring out the front window, frowning, distant; the sight made Jack worry.

“You sure you’re ok?” Jack asked him, turning his attention back to the highway. There were no other cars, just shadows and starlight. “You’re quiet.”

“I’m fine,” was the only reply he got.

“See? You only say that when something's wrong." Careful to keep at least one hand on the wheel, Jack shrugged out of his jack and handed it across to Gabriel. "Here. Get that mess off you."

Gabriel took the garment and sighed. “I just… Just can’t believe this shit is really happening, you know?”

“Yeah, I’m with you on that one.” An hour ago they were joking, laughing, happy. Safe. “I still kinda hope it’s just some crazy bad dream.”

“Yeah…” Another sigh. “Me, too.”

A long silence stretched between them as they raced along the highway, watching the road slip away beneath the truck’s glaring headlights. Jack glanced across at Gabriel often, watching him carefully as he scrubbed himself as clean as he could and set the soiled jacket aside. A little stiff with one arm; maybe he knocked it when the creature tried to attack him - Jack shuddered at the memory. When he looked across again, he noticed the passenger-side side-view mirror was broken. Maybe that had something to do with it. In the rear-view mirror, the blinking lights of the city were long gone, but Jack’s worries hadn’t left him. It wasn’t like Gabe to be so quiet, so… far away. It terrified Jack more than the zombies.

Eventually, the silence became simply too much. “We’ll head down to Salt Lake City, fill up on fuel there, then head southwest. Should get to L.A. around sunrise tomorrow, if there’s no more surprises along the way. Not a bad road trip, if we weren’t running for our…”

“Denver.”

Jack blinked. “What?”

“Denver,” Gabriel said again. “Then Jefferson. Keep going east until we reach New York.”

“But I thought the plan was L.A?”

“East coast will be safer.” When Jack looked across at him, Gabriel wouldn’t meet his eye. “If this shit gets real bad, we can fly over to Europe or something.”

Jack managed a weak grin. “You’re always talking about touring around Europe one day.”

Finally, the faintest of smiles pulled at Gabriel’s lips, but there was something terribly, frighteningly sad about it, something Jack couldn’t explain, and wasn't sure he wanted to. “Yeah.”

It was midnight when they reached Salt Lake City. The news had reached there, as well, and people were already starting to evacuate. They found a small gas station on the city’s outskirts and pulled over to refuel. “Wait in the car and take it easy, ok?” Jack instructed as he switched off the ignition. “I’ll get some fuel and something to eat.” He was about to leave the truck when Gabriel’s hand caught his wrist.

“Jack…” His face was twisted into a pained frowned, and he looked exhausted. “I love you, ok?”

Despite everything they’d gone through in the past few hours, Jack gave a choked laugh. It felt strange, but good, and reminded him that just maybe, they’d get through this. He didn’t even notice the odd look in Gabriel’s eyes until he thought back to this moment later on. “I love you, too, Gabe. Always will, no matter what. You got that?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He got out of the car, shut the door and turned away.

The guy behind the counter was friendly. Admitted he wasn’t too worried about all the fuss on the news, but that it had been great for business; lots of people stocking up on fuel and food. Jack paid for the fuel, he wished Jack a nice evening, and Jack told him to stay safe. As he walked back to the truck, he patted the gun at his hip, remembering the blockade. Remembered how close he’d come to losing Gabriel, and shivered. That was a nightmare he simply couldn't face.

“No food left,” Jack announced with a grunt as he dragged himself back into the driver’s seat. “Looks like everyone’s heard the news and are stocking up. Lucky we brought some from home.”

Only then did he look up and realise Gabriel wasn’t there.

It took Jack a moment to fully understand. He climbed back down from the truck, looked around, blinked. “Gabe? Hey, Gabe, we’d better get going if we wanna make it to Denver tonight.” No reply, no sign of him. His door was shut, his phone gone. His duffel bag was still in the back. “Gabe?” He looked towards the store; nothing. He looked out over the road; nothing. No sign of life in the darkness. Where had he gone? And why wasn’t he answering? “ _Gabe!_ ” Panic started to seep in, and quickly sank right down to his core.

“ _Gabriel!?_ ” Suddenly everything else was gone - the only thing he knew was that Gabriel was missing. He didn’t know where he'd gone, didn’t know why he’d gone, just knew that he wasn’t there, where Jack needed him to be. “Gabriel!” Had Gabriel run off somewhere? Where would he go? Had someone taken him? Had something happened to him? There weren't any infected here, no one else but the cashier was around... None of the wild explanations his mind offered him made any sense. Why would he just leave without saying anything? He checked the passenger seat: a few drops of blood, the ruined jacket, nothing else. Outside the truck, only darkness beyond the station. Jack was alone, and it terrified him. Icy and burning at the same time, fear took hold, and panic overwhelmed him.

“GABRIEL.” He bellowed at the top of his lungs. It was a dream, a nightmare. It had to be. Gabe wouldn’t just leave him. Wouldn’t just run off. It didn’t make sense. “ _GABRIEL, WHERE ARE YOU?_ ” He had to go after him, had to find him, had to bring him back. But where had he gone?

It was dawning on him, with each moment of silence following his calls, that there would be no answer. That somehow, for some reason, the warm, rumbling voice wouldn’t call back to him. That Gabriel wouldn’t be coming back to hold him, comfort him, help him, call him an idiot for worrying and tell him everything would be alright.

His voice cracked. Hot tears rolled down his cheek. “Gabriel don’t leave me here alone, dammit! _I need you! GABE!_ ”

The cashier was calling out to him, asking him what the hell was wrong, why he was screaming, who he was yelling to. Jack couldn’t hear him. All he heard was silence and his own choking voice, roaring, sobbing, calling out Gabriel’s name over and over again until his lungs failed him.

 

There was no answer from the dark, no sign of him.

Gabriel was gone.


	2. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 10 years after the day of the outbreak. The lives of the survivors have been changed forever, but the epidemic isn't done with them just yet. There's still a long and winding road to go before they can have even a fragment of the peace and stability they once knew.

**United States of America, 10 years later**

Population: 10,000

Major Cities: 2

Estimated Number of Infected: over 5,000,000

 

Jack had barely slept in a decade. A couple of hours a night, interrupted by cold sweats, panic attacks, horrific nightmares, and a steady flow of thoughts that refused to let him rest. He was always up before dawn, already dreading the night that would inevitably follow a dull, depressing day. That’s what life was like in New York these days, one of the few cities able to keep the undead out- even so, it was a far cry from the city it used to be.

The sickly pink glow of sunrise greeted him as he stepped out from his apartment block in Zone E, what used to be part of the upper west side. Light bounced lazily from the few in-tact windows of the silent buildings around him. If anyone had chosen to live in them, they had no plans to start the day early. The streets were mostly silent as the city dozed: he saw a few clusters of fellow survivors huddled around small fires, blankets pulled tight around their shoulders, speaking softly to each other or staring glumly into the flickering light. They looked up at him as he passed, either with suspicion or with envy at the sight of his heavy pulse rifle. Even in a quarantined city like New York, having a gun greatly improved a person’s chances of survival. Undead weren’t the only threat anymore - thugs, looters, scavengers; Jack had seen all of them, and killed a few of them, too.

“Hey,” he rasped at them, his voice sounding tired and scratchy from lack of use.

They just nodded at him, and went back to their conversation. Eventually, he stopped saying anything, just tipped his head and walked on.

By the time he’d reached Zone A, the sun could be seen through the skeletal remains of the once-great city. There were more people on the streets here, most of them trying to barter food or weapons at makeshift stalls. It used to be a high-end part of town, and now, it served as a central hub for the area. It was the location of the city’s collected food and supplies, and it was here that the survivors had set up a base for their makeshift military group, the Watch, making it the safest place to live within the city. Chasing off thugs, monitoring food and water rations, keeping the peace; that’s what the Watch took care of. On top of that, and perhaps most important of all, they manned the gate leading to the last remaining bridge to the mainland, the only way on or off the island of Manhattan.

“Morning, Jack.”

He looked up at the sound of a woman’s voice - she had moved into step alongside him without him even noticing.

“Hey, Ana,” he sighed. “You’re up early.”

“So are you.”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Me neither.”

It was the same conversation they had every morning; they’d shared it so often it had become a sort of ritual. Ana was older than Jack, but looked about the same age as him – or even younger on days when he felt particularly worn-out. Her hair was beginning to grey and she complained about her joints, but to Jack, she seemed just as nimble and sharp-witted as when he’d first met her.

His department had been sent over to L.A to help with a mass murder investigation - Ana had been a lead detective of the LAPD, and she and Jack had worked closely together. It had been a high profile case spanning across L.A and Idaho Falls, one of the worst in decades, and after a year of their combined offices working together, they’d managed to solve it, arrest the murderer, and seen them successfully convicted. To the local community, it practically made them heroes. In truth, it had been the forensic investigations unit that had finally closed the case, led by none other than lead forensic detective Gabriel Reyes.

The thought triggered a familiar ache in his chest. They’d first met on that case. Back then, Gabriel had been dead-set on his work, and often came across as blunt and intimidating, but Jack had learnt that, away from the office, Gabriel had the warmest smile, the loudest laugh, and the wildest stories of anyone Jack had ever met. After the case, Gabriel had moved to Idaho with Jack - while they were happy for him, his whole team had been sad to see him go. Gabriel had always been the sort of person to leave a lasting impression on everyone he met.

The sort of person that, no matter how hard you tried, you could never really forget.

Ana must have noticed the sudden sorrow in his expression, and reached out to touch his shoulder lightly. “Come on, Jack, let’s get to our post.”

Blinking out of his thoughts, Jack sighed again. “Yeah, sure.”

The gate sat at the very beginning of the bridge, the only way through the massive concrete barriers that had been built around Manhattan. It was a precaution that, so far, had kept the makeshift city safe from infection.

“Still can’t believe how quick they got this thing built,” Jack noted as they reached their post at the top of the left-side tower. The bridge stretched away beneath them, dark water rushing by below it, and in the far distance, a few rolling hills dotted with the remains of crumbled suburbs. “Makes you wonder if they had it ready.”

Ana shrugged. She seemed a little breathless after the climb. “Perhaps. Though I’d hope they hadn’t built them with a _zombie_ attack in mind.”

“Well, they obviously had _something_ bad in the mind. 48 hours after the warnings and they had every political leader, world celebrity and whatever other VIP’s with enough cash in their pockets out of the country. Didn’t even send back the planes to pick anyone else up, just left us out here to die.”

He expected a reply from Ana; when he received none, he looked over at her and noticed that she was staring out across the river with a pained look on her face, one that Jack easily recognised.

“Your daughter?” he asked quietly.

Ana nodded - when she spoke, her voice trembled a little. “I just wish I knew where she was. Is she safe? Did she manage to get out? Did she…?” For a moment, she lifted a small hand to cover her mouth, and her shoulders quivered.

Jack lay a hand on her arm. “I know.”

She steadied herself and turned to him. “You still believe he’s out there?”

He didn’t meet her gaze; didn’t trust himself to. “I have to.”

“If anyone has a shot at surviving this hell on their own, it’s Gabe.”

Jack gave a deep sigh and leant against the metal railing in front of him, the only boundary between him and a plunge into the Hudson. “Ten years I’ve been standing at this gate from dawn to dusk hoping one day I’d see him walking down that damn bridge. Hell, I thought he’d be here when I arrived, waiting for me with some insane story about how we’d gotten separated.” He paused, had to steady his breathing, had to remind himself that the void in his chest wouldn’t swallow him whole. “If he _is_ out there, he has a damn lot of explaining to do.”

If he was out there, Jack wouldn’t give a damn what the reasons were. All he wanted was Gabriel at his side again, the way it always was, the way it should be. He looked up towards the horizon. If Gabriel really had made it out of everything alive, then where was he?

\-----

 

It was fascinating how quickly nature had begun to reclaim the land that humans had taken from it. A tree breaking free from the concrete pavement, grass poking up through sidewalk cracks, long strands of ivy weaving through the husks of old buildings. Steel and greenery, death and life; the onslaught of human advancement being steadily beaten back once again, back to the earth and dust that it came from. There was something eerily beautiful about it. If he had more of a knack for poetry, he might have gone on some long speech about how, despite all its progress, mankind was just as vulnerable as the forests it tore down, and wiped out just as brutally.

But he’d never been good at poetry. He was better at planning, deciphering, figuring out secrets, weaving through lies, tactics and strategy. His mind was sharp, and every little piece of information given to him was gathered together, decoded, and neatly filed where it would be most useful. That’s why he’d been so good at his job. That’s why, ten years ago, his path had been so clear to him, despite the pain of the consequences.

It hadn’t been easy, what he’d done, but he’d known that it was the only choice he had. It was the only way to keep Jack safe.

Gabriel had been living with the pain of that decision for ten long, lonely years.

Few nights had passed where he hadn’t relived the day of the outbreak, hadn’t seen again the fear in Jack’s eyes, heard the tremor in his voice, remembered the hot tears as Jack screamed his name over and over until his throat gave up, watched himself staggering away into the shadows as Jack’s broken sobs stung his ears.

Even now, the thought of it made him wince, and set off a deep ache in what remained of his tired old soul. The pain seemed fitting for a place like this. Buildings loomed over him like giant tombstones, solemn and grieving, and between them Gabriel ducked from shadow to shadow, a solitary mourner. A strong sense of abandonment lingered on the streets, thick like a fog. The living didn’t walk here anymore. It was especially quiet at this time of day, when the sun was at its highest - the undead weren’t keen on light. As he slipped through another sliver of it, his skin tingled uncomfortably. A long time ago he’d added ‘that sun-kissed feeling’ to the list of sensations he missed.

It had all been a terrible stroke of bad luck, at the roadblock on the outskirts of town, where that arse of a soldier had called him a pretty boy. When the undead had leapt over the military van, Gabriel had fallen backwards against the truck; his arm had taken out the side-view mirror, and a stray shard of glass had sliced through his skin, just deep enough to bleed. He’d had his arms up trying to fight the thing when Jack had blown its head to bits, and somehow, the sprayed blood and the infection it contained must have gotten into the wound. The chances of it happening would have been too slim to believe, if Gabe hadn’t felt the sting, hadn’t seen his skin turning purple around the wound. He’d known straight away. Transmission of infection via bodily fluids into open wounds. That’s why victims of attacks were turning into zombies, too; a bite to break the skin and pass on the disease, like something out of a trashy vampire novel.

Knowing that didn’t make it any easier once they got to Salt Lake City. The whole drive there, Gabriel was steeling himself to carry out the choice he’d made, figuring out a plan, wondering how he’d execute it. Trying to figure out how he could ever live with himself for doing it. _For Jack_ , he’d told himself. _I’m doing this for Jack_.

It’s not that he didn’t think Jack would’ve understood if Gabriel had told him; it’s that Gabriel knew he was too much of a coward to say it out loud, to look into his damn blue eyes and tell him the truth.

“ _It’s the end of the line for me, Jack. I’m getting out of here to throw myself in front of a truck before I turn into one of those freaks._ ”

Jack would have tried to convince him to stay, tell him that he’d find a way to stop the infection, that there was some way by sheer will that he could save him, and Gabriel would’ve melted into those words and convinced himself that Jack was right, that everything would be ok. And hours later, would have ripped Jack apart as the infection took away every shred of his humanity. Instead, he’d managed a single, pathetic, _I love you_ , and had vanished into the night; didn’t even have the guts to watch as Jack searched for him frantically, just huddled in the dark and choked on his tears as Jack’s heart shattered into pieces.

For the best. For Jack’s sake. This was the only way to protect them both.

As Gabriel ducked soundlessly into the corpse of a once-lavish apartment building foyer, he nearly chuckled to himself, a sad, heartless kind of laugh that was as bitter as it was painful. Funny how doing the right thing always seemed to be so damn hard. He crouched down behind the cobweb-ridden desk and pulled out his shotguns, checking his ammo. Running low. Damn.

His arm throbbed dully as he loaded the weapon. He shut his eyes, and listened. Shuffled steps in the dining hall, through a door to his right. Had it been any other person lurking in the foyer, the undead would have smelled him out and ripped him to shreds by now, but not Gabriel. Most other people would have heard the undead in the other room and turned tail, but not him.  He wasn’t like most other people; not anymore, at least. Now, he had a particularly unique set of skills that made his new occupation a hell-of-a-lot easier. Had to be some up-side to the shit he’d been through.

When Jack’s shouting had fallen away into whimpers, Gabriel had gotten up and stumbled off, bleary-eyed, his arm numb down to the fingers, stinging up to his shoulder, wondering what the best way to go would be, what would be fastest, what would be cleanest. Pain wasn’t a factor; nothing could hurt more than what he’d just done. He’d decided on finding a gun and planting a bullet in his skull when the wagon had rolled up alongside him. It was older than Jack’s, bigger - but groaned and creaked just like his - and was occupied by a group of men.

“Oi, buddy,” the driver had called to him. “We’re headed to L.A. News says the zombies are headed this way in the next couple’a hours. We got room in the tray for one more if you want in?”

Gabriel had nearly replied with “actually if you could just run me over that would be fine” when he’d had a thought. A memory, faded at the edges, the colours a little tinged, but still there. From his time with the forensic unit. Blonde hair, bright smile, smarter than was good for any sane person, best medical researcher and surgeon he’d ever seen. And she was in L.A. “Actually, yeah. That’d be great.” His voice was still hoarse, and there were blood smears on his face, but they hadn’t asked any questions.

Not for the first time, Gabriel wondered if he’d made a mistake. Maybe he’d have been better off dead than what he was now. Maybe it was exactly what he deserved.  The thought had been fleeting, but he’d clung to it so desperately, so furiously, that it was all he could see. If anyone could save him from turning undead, it was her.

Angela Ziegler. The medical genius who had been so invaluable on so many of Gabriel’s cases. The only person in the world who might be able to figure out how to reverse his fate. When he’d shown up at the door of her lab, clutching his immobile, bruise-covered arm, sporting a pair of faint but steadily darkening black eyes, rasping like a smoker on death’s doorstep, she had been horrified - not to Gabriel's surprise. When he’d explained the situation, between grunts of pain and wheezing gasps, the researcher he knew leapt back to the fore, and she wasted no time in getting to work.

It had taken days. Not days of just lying on a stretcher, either. Days of rigorous tests, blood samples, injections of a whole bunch of different shit that Gabe=riel couldn’t even pronounce, spinal taps, beeping machines, physical tests, minor surgeries; days of excruciating pain that would’ve driven Gabriel mad if he hadn’t held on to one single thought: Jack. Seeing him again in New York, hearing the joy in his voice, feeling those hands on his shoulders, winding around him in a tight hug, the tickle of breath on his ear as he laughed, cried, thanked God or whatever else was out there, _‘I thought you were gone for good, Gabe’_. _‘It’s alright, Jack, I’m here now, and I’m never leaving you again’_.

Then one day he’d woken up, and felt different. The drugs had stalled the infection’s spread, but now the throbbing that had spread from his arm to his chest and begun winding its way up the side of his neck and face, was gone. His body ached, but didn’t sting. His veins no longer burned against his flesh. His lungs could draw in enough air, his heart could beat at a normal pace. But he wasn’t quite _cured_ , either. Deep, black circles lingered around his eyes. One side of his body was riddled in purple or blood-red patches. And he felt dead. He felt as though he was sleeping with his eyes open, there but not really _there_ , or there even though he wasn’t meant to be.

The infection had been put to rest, but its effects hadn’t been reversed. He was half alive, half dead.

That’s what made him so good at his new job: wiping out hordes of undead before they could reach areas populated by survivors. The undead could smell the living, but Gabe? He smelled like the undead. And what’s more, _he_ could smell _them_. He could hear better than he could before. And they could no longer infect him. In fact, he could hardly feel pain at all. Those were the upsides. Downsides included smelling faintly of rotting flesh, unable to stand in sunlight for longer than a few seconds, an insatiable appetite for raw meat, being forced to live alone because he terrified anyone he came across, and, of course, not being entirely alive.

He breathed out a long sigh. Maybe it would have been better to kill himself ten years ago, but at least now he could help, even just a little. And Jack? How could Gabriel look at him, knowing what he’d become? Knowing how dangerous he could still be? No, the whole reason he’d left was so he wouldn’t hurt Jack, and that was the promise he’d stuck to. Jack was better off thinking he was dead or long gone, of that Gabriel was certain. He readied his shotguns, comforted by the familiar weight in his hands. Blasting a few of the infected that had gotten him into this mess to high heaven usually put his mind back at ease. With another breath, he sprung up from his cover, threw himself through the doorway, and charged into the cluster of undead with his guns snarling.

_This is for you, Jack._

 -----

 

The flowers on the front porch were dead. That was the first unusual thing Jesse McCree noticed as he rode up to the small, white-panelled house. As he dismounted and tied his horse to the railing, he saw that the front windows had been left open; that was the second unusual thing. Quietly, he slipped Peacekeeper from its holster at his hip, and ascended the front steps, cursing the clinking of his spurs with each step. The house seemed still and silent, and he found the lack of noise suddenly stifling. Usually the tiny old Mrs. Patterson saw him loping down the road and hobbled out to greet him, invite him in for tea, offer to give him her latest knitted scarf, at which Jesse would smile, tip his hat, and politely refuse, still a long way to go, want to get back home before day’s end, keep yourself safe, ma’am.

He tapped a knuckle against the door frame, listening carefully for any tell-tale signs of life from within – or something not living at all. There was a long pause, during which Jesse’s lungs ached for air, and his heart fluttered nervously. Peacekeeper was heavy in his hand.

Then there was a shuffle. Slow at first, then more rapid, heading for the door. Jesse reached out and gripped the handle, waiting. When the sound seemed to be just on the other side, he shoved the door open and whipped his pistol up to eye level, aiming straight between the eyes of a startled, still alive, Mrs. Patterson.

“Oh, Jesse!” she smiled, as though ignorant of how close she’d come to being killed. “There you are!”

All the air Jesse had left rushed from his lungs in a mighty sigh, and he dropped Peacekeeper to his side. “Jeez, Mrs. Patterson, y’scared me half to death. Thought you’d gone undead on me since I saw you last.”

“Don’t be silly,” the aged woman cackled, turning and hurrying back down her hallway with short, shuffling steps, “I’m tougher than I look, boy, an’ don’t you forget it!”

Jesse shook his head. Slotting his pistol back into its holster, he gave a breathy chuckle. “Yer usually wavin’ at me halfway down the drive,” he explained as she returned, cradling a basket. “An’ yer flowers’re dead. You been slackin’ off, ma’am?”

“Nonsense!” she exclaimed. “You’re here early, is all.”

Her mind must be getting rusty, he thought to himself. No surprise, given her age. She extended the basket to him with a toothless smile – she hadn’t lost her false teeth again, had she?

“I baked these for ya, son. Go on, try one!”

“Aw, shucks, ma’am, y’know ya don’t have to…”

“Go on!”

Humouring her, he pried back the towel covering the goods and revealed a small bundle of chocolate chip cookies. The smell was heavenly. Despite himself, Jesse reached in, carefully extracted one, and bit into it; warm and still a little soft, just how Jesse liked them. The look on his face was enough for Mrs. Patterson to beam in delight. She insisted he take them with him, saying the sugar was no good for a woman her age, and Jesse had tried but failed to argue. He rode away with a carefully wrapped batch of the cookies in his saddlebags.

It was the same routine every day; up just after dawn, riding around the few farmsteads that were still inhabited, checking that people were alright and the roads were clear of undead, before heading into the city. Well, not much of a city these days; Santa Fe hadn’t been as fortunate as its northerly neighbour, Los Angeles. But, for now, thanks to the efforts of himself and a few others, it was zombie-free, and Jesse was doing all he could to keep it that way. When he reached the rebuilt section of town, expecting to see the same familiar faces he saw there every day, he was in for yet another surprise; must’ve been one of those days.

“Please, you’ve got to help him!” An accented voice caught his ear. A hiss, a pause. “Please, _sir_ , you must help my brother, he-!”

“Get ‘im outta here, son! Ain’t no helpin’ him now.”

“Please, there must be a way!” The voice was growing impatient, and closer.  Jesse recognised the accent as Japanese. “He’s been bitten! There has to be something I can do, anything!”

As Jesse rode around the corner, he saw the voice’s owner. He had black hair, pulled up into a tight bun; stray locks framed his angular face. His eyes were sharp, Jesse could see that even from a distance. He was supporting his brother, a slightly slimmer man with a soft face, and ridiculous bright green hair. The brother looked to be in a bad way, hardly able to stand and sporting dark rings around his half-closed eyes. The infection, no doubt about it.

The dark-haired brother noticed him, and Jesse heard the desperation in his voice.

“You there! Please, you must help us. We were attacked and my brother was bitten. He's dying!”

Jesse frowned as he dismounted, eyeing the infected boy. “How long since he got bit?”

“Last night, a few hours ago,” the man explained. Must be tough if he’d survived the attack, probably knew how to defend himself. Jesse suspected the brother just got unlucky.

“He ain’t got much longer then.”

Anger coloured the other man’s voice now, and an edge of panic. “There must be _something_ I can do!”

Jesse looked from the man to his brother, back again. In the time since the outbreak he’d seen plenty of his friends, either out of bad luck or carelessness, get bitten and turn undead; he remembered the way they bled purple from bullet wounds Peacekeeper left in them. Better to kill them quick, safer for everyone. Aim true, close your eyes, fan the hammer. But could he put a bullet in this kid? He was considering it until he noticed something about the look in the older brother's eyes; he wouldn’t let Jesse make the shot, even if it meant having to kill him. Looks like he didn't have much of a choice - thankfully, he had an alternative in mind.

“It’s a long shot,” Jesse began with a sigh, “but there’s an old friend o’ mine in L.A, heard something from a while back ‘bout her findin’ a way to stop the infection, but we ain’t got much time.”

“How do we get there?” he demanded.

Wondering what he was getting himself into, Jesse gave his horse a sideways look, and huffed. “You ever ridden a horse?”

Not long after that, Santa Fe was disappearing behind them into the shimmery haze of summer heat, Jesse riding with the infected brother slouched over in the saddle in front of him, the healthy brother riding on a borrowed horse behind him, and continued to wonder what on earth he was doing. This wasn’t his routine, wasn’t his job, and definitely wasn’t on his list of ‘Ways to Not Get Killed or Infected’, but something about this man, about the look in his eyes, had made Jesse pause. Would he regret it? Most likely. Was he doing it anyway? Sure as hell.

“Seeing as yer roping me along on this lil’ trip, can I get yer name, at least?” Jesse called back. “I’m Jesse McCree.”

“Shimada,” the man replied curtly. “Shimada Hanzo. My brother is Genji.”

The look in Hanzo’s eyes was as sharp and cutting as ever, but Jesse smiled at him despite it. Maybe it was high time he had a break in routine, went on a little adventure. Still plenty of the world he hadn’t seen, and he had a feeling that, if Hanzo and his brother had anything to do with it, he was about to see a whole lot more of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is gonna be one of those weird pieces that jumps through a few different perspectives. Over the next couple of chapters I'll have every perspective introduced. Gradually, they'll tie in-together - you'll have to keep reading to find out exactly how.  
> As usual, if you have any suggestions or requests, just pop it in the comments!! Thanks for reading! (Honestly didn't think anyone would read this so I actually love all you guys so much thank youuuuu)


	3. Friends, Old and New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old friendships from before the Outbreak are revisited, and new ties are beginning to form.

“Lemme get this straight, cobber: rather than wantin’ us t’go an’ blow a bunch of undead freaks up like we do best, ye want us to trap ‘em? _Alive_?”

Lena pouted at the two men seated across from her at the abandoned diner. The slimmer man, who had spoken, wore a bemused look on his ash-smeared face. The larger man next to him hadn’t said anything since the pair had arrived. Lena had been dubious about contacting them, and it seemed, for now, that her suspicions had been right. Not that Winston had paid her any mind.

“Correct,” Winston replied, adjusting his glasses.

The skinny one, who called himself Junkrat, leaned back and tented his fingers. “Well, mate, t’be honest, we usually just kill the bloody things. This is sorta outta our area of expertise.” He shrugged his bare shoulders. “Can’t help ya.”

Winston frowned. “I understand it’s not the sort of job you’d usually take on, but I’m certain we could make it worth your while.”

“Oh?” Junkrat tapped a mechanical finger against his chin. “Well, then… Hypothetically, if we did take this job on for ya… We’d be askin’ for a pretty hefty fee. Seein’ as how live zombies are a lot more dangerous’n blown-up zombies an’ all. Stuff for makin’ bombs, chems, medicines, food, beer; ain’t easy work, doin’ what we do.”

“Of course,” nodded Winston. “We’d need you – hypothetically – to create some sort of trap that would keep the zombies alive and contained. If you can do it, and I’m sure, being the experts you are, that you could,” Lena nearly rolled her eyes at his flattery, “we could pay you in medicine, food, and something even more valuable.”

Lena watched Junkrat’s singed eyebrows shoot up; she’d guess that the other man’s did, too, but his face was hidden behind a gas mask.

Winston, with a victorious grin, leant forward, resting one arm on the tabletop. “How would you two be interested in a vaccine and possible cure for the undead infection? Just enough for each of you. Once it’s ready, of course.”

The pair exchanged a glance – how Junkrat could read anything from a faceless mask was a true mystery. Junkrat ran his tongue over his teeth, and cracked his knuckles. “Well, then, explains why you need ‘em alive, eh? Meds, chems, food, vaccine, and we’ll get yer zombies.”

“Deal!” declared Winston.

“Deal!” Junkrat extended his mechanical hand, and Winston shook it. The larger man gave them a thumbs-up. Lena just shook her head.

“So, y’think they can help us out, then?” Lena asked her long-time friend when they’d returned to his lab. It was the same he’d worked in before the outbreak, and though it was a lot dustier and messier than it used to be, and sported an impressive amount of empty peanut butter jars, it had been kept in pretty good working order.

“Junkrat and Roadhog certainly seem capable,” Winston answered, browsing through the files scattered across his desk. “And we don’t really have any other options.”

“Never thought I’d hear a scientist say he couldn’t do something,” giggled Lena. “You’re on the verge of finding a cure for zombification, love, and you can’t even build a silly trap!”

Eyeing her over his glassses, Winston grinned. “My genius can only cover so many fields, Lena.”

She laughed. They’d spent ten years hard at work – well, Winston had been hard at work, Lena had been assisting – trying to find a vaccine, and maybe even a cure. Now, it seemed that they were close to finding both. The last pieces of the puzzle they needed were samples from ‘live’ zombies, and a few undead test subjects - hence the pyromaniac and his pot-bellied friend. Propping herself up on the only clear corner of the desk she could find, she glanced over the files as Winston shuffled them around, and smiled to herself.

“Can you imagine it, love? Not having to worry about infection? Curing all those poor sods? Going back to a normal life? I mean, it’ll take a while to rebuild everything, of course, but…” She drifted off, her smile growing. “No more living in fear all the time.”

Winston’s sigh interrupted her daydreams. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Lena. Even if we’ve got it right this time – which, though it’s unlikely, is a possibility – trying to cure the millions of undead is no easy task.”

Lena shrugged. “Well, like I always say. You gotta keep your chin up, no matter what!”

She just wished it was as easy as she made it sound.

 -----

From where he perched on the roof of a half-crumbled old factory over-looking the small, deserted city, Gabriel could appreciate that there was still some beauty left in the world. It was a tattered, run-down beauty, but strangely pleasant nonetheless. Is that what Jack would think about him, if they ever saw each other again? The permanent black eyes, the blotchy, bruised skin, the copious scars, the faint but persistent smell of death that clung to him; could Jack see through that to the man he used to be? It was difficult to imagine. He was probably a fool for even considering it. The chances were that Jack probably wouldn’t even recognise him. Gabriel shut his eyes and sighed.

How much longer could he keep this up? His skin stung where fresh scratches and bites adorned it, red and angry, already beginning to form sickly purple scabs. His ammo stores were critically low. His belly growled. And he was exhausted; more-so than a half-dead man had any right to be.

Not much longer.

“I miss you, Jack,” Gabriel sighed to himself. “More than you could know.”

An unusual sound caught his ear. It was one he wouldn’t have expected to hear in an abandoned city, and much less in _this_ one, where he had spent the past few nights clearing out every undead he could get his hands on. He’d thought he was completely alone. But then he’d heard it, a faint _clack_.

It reminded him of high heels on concrete.

Gabriel looked to his left just in time to see, on another rooftop a few buildings down the street, a tall, slim figure, facing him, holding something in their arms, pointed right at him. Something long and metal, like a gun. Like a rifle.

He heard the muffled shot at the same time as he threw himself from the roof. The bullet whirred through the air where he’d been a second ago, and he heard a sharp bark in a language that wasn’t English. Then he was tumbling four stories down, trying and failing to steady his fall. He crashed into the concrete below, landing heavily on his side. What little air he needed to keep in his lungs rushed out in a pained gasp.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he panted, scrambling to get to his feet. Had he been completely human, the fall would have most likely killed him, or come very close to it, at least.

Another bullet whirred past as he staggered down the narrow street he’d landed in. Where the hell had they come from? And why the hell were they trying to kill him? He rounded a corner in time to see the same tall figure land neatly on her feet just a block away, her long pony tail swaying behind her. She spotted him, raised the rifle, fired a shot that narrowly missed Gabriel’s leg as he dived down the next street on his right. His feet pelted the hard concrete. Between the buildings ahead of him, he could see the afternoon sun trying to fight its way through the clouds, and felt the beginnings of an itch along his skin.

The street gave way to a large intersection, and he skidded to a stop. Gabriel checked behind him, but there was no sign of the woman. _Tak, tak, tak_. Above him, to his left. He leapt behind the burnt-out shell of an old car, ducking low to keep his head out of sight. A voice muttered something in French.

Still fighting to get his breath back, Gabriel risked peering through the empty gap where the car’s window would have been; bullets peppered the destroyed vehicle, and he was forced to duck down again, swearing. Whoever she was, she was good.

Which was bad for Gabriel. Plucking a small slab of dislodged concrete – most likely from one of the crumbling buildings surrounding him, Gabriel lobbed it as hard as he could to his right. As he’d hoped, the sniper reacted immediately to the movement. Bullets peppered the street, and he used his split-second window to whip around the other side of the car and high-tail it into the building underneath where the shots were coming from. He couldn’t keep letting her try to pick him off from above; try to get on even ground, close the distance and gain the upper hand without getting his head blown off. Not easy, but he was running short on options.

He located a stairway that looked like it would take him to the roof and hurried up it, trying not to make too much noise. The door at the top of the stairway was heavy, but unlocked. Carefully, he pushed it open, wincing as it made a groan. There goes his attempt at stealth. But when he peered out onto the rooftop, she was no longer there.

Frowning, Gabriel stepped out into the open, eyes darting around, wondering where the hell she’d gotten to. He’d only taken a few strides out when his instincts told him to get to cover, fast. He turned around, hoping to get back inside, and saw something attached to the door he’d come through; from the rapid beeps it made, he guessed it was a bomb. Great.

No time to dive out of the way. The device gave a loud _blip_ , and purple smoke erupted from it, enveloping him. Immediately it burned his skin and caught in his throat, making him gag. Tears clouded his vision. He coughed, staggered blindly, trying to flail the smoke away, but it only made the burning across his skin worse. Teetering, he didn’t dare try to run blindly through it, in case he went hurtling over the roof again, and risked landing headfirst; not even an undead would get up from that. By the time the smoke had begun to clear, Gabriel could barely see a thing and was coughing his lungs up, his throat blazing with every jagged breath. He couldn’t run even if he tried to.

Something sharp thudded against his back, and he hit the ground hard. Long fingers grabbed his wrists, pulled them back, tied them together. A weight settled between his shoulder blades. Cold metal pressed against his temple.

“Caught,” purred a French voice above him.

With the smoke all but cleared, Gabriel managed a glance up at his captor; younger than he’d expected, beautiful but terrifying, with a wicked gleam to her dark eyes.

“You’re smarter than most undead… very interesting.” She tilted her head to one side, considering him. “Still, you were not smart enough for me.”

She readied her next shot: point-blanc to his temple.

“Wait!” Gabriel choked out, coughing again. “Wait, wait, don’t kill me!”

She paused, surprised. “Oh? I’ve never encountered an undead that could talk.”

“That’s ‘cus I’m not undead! Alright, well, half. I’m half undead. But I’m half alive, too!”

One meticulously groomed eyebrow cocked at him. “Oh? You expect me to believe that?”

Gabriel grunted and tried to shift; the heeled boot between his shoulder blades pressed down harder, and he grimaced in discomfort. “You said it yourself,” he hissed through his teeth. “Never heard an undead talk, right?”

A pause. “If that is true… it is fascinating.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” Another grunt, and a growl of annoyance. “Look, will you let me up? I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Colours flashed across his vision as the gun pointed to his head knocked his skull against the cement roof. He swore, coughed, tasted blood. Undead blood; particularly nasty.

“You expect me to believe that?” she asked with a lilt, sounding amused.

Were his vision clearer, Gabriel imagined he’d see a smile curling her lips. “ _You_ attacked _me_ , remember? I was minding my own damn business. The only things I’m going after are undead, not humans. Promise.”

“A vigilante undead?” chuckled the sniper. “Now _that_ is a wild tale.”

He wasn’t getting anywhere; Gabriel shut his eyes, thinking. “You came here to kill undead, I take it? A mercenary of some sort?” Her silence told him he was correct. “Bet you were damn surprised you found none. Or maybe you found the pile? Saw the smoke?” Silence again. “And did you happen to see shotgun shells as well?”

“Perhaps.”

“Under the coat.”

The sniper leaned down to cautiously pry back the edge of his coat, revealing the large shotgun strapped to his belt. Gabriel watched her, biting his lip. Her eyebrows twitched. “Hm.”

“What’s your name?”

Her eyes met his, and he felt a little colder. “Amelie. My employers know me as Widowmaker.”

“Oh yeah? How’d you earn that nickname?” He felt his bare skin begin to prickle, and worried that the sun was breaking through at last. The last thing he needed.

“My husband got bitten. I shot him before the metamorphosis could begin.”

“Ah.” He tried to shift again, and this time Amelie’s boot didn’t crush his effort. “Sorry to hear about that. Will you let me up now?”

Amelie considered him. She stood there silently for so long that Gabriel wondered if he’d said something to offend or upset her. Should he say something else? Apologise maybe? He was about to try shifting again when he felt a sudden movement above him. Something sharp dug into his neck, and he cried out in alarm and pain. _“Ah, fuck!_ ”

The click of a tongue. “Language,” Amelie purred.

He felt something draining from his neck, and growled. “More needles? Seriously?” The syringe was yanked free, and the weight on his back was lifted. A moment later and his wrists were untied. Gabriel rolled and pushed himself into a sitting position, rubbing the small puncture in his neck. “If I never see another needle again, it’ll be too soon.”

At his grouchy tone, Amelie laughed. She was holding the syringe at eye-level, scrutinising it; thick, purple blood swirled within. Gabriel gave a small shudder at the sight. “Any particular reason for that?”

She shrugged, removed the sharp end of the needle, and tucked her newly acquired prize into a small pouch tied to her belt. “For a friend,” she replied simply.

“Weird-ass friend.”

“You could say that.” She looked at him again, narrowed her eyes, pursed her lips. “Very well, I’ll let you go free. But know this: if I ever see you again, I will not miss my shot. Understood?”

“Got it.”

“Good. _Adieu_.”

With that, Amelie turned and vaulted neatly from the rooftop; Gabriel heard the _tak_ as she landed, followed by a series of clicks as she prowled away. The sun broke free of the clouds, and Gabriel slunk back into the building to escape it. At this rate, not much longer at all.

 -----

Slipping past the heavily guarded walls of Los Angeles’ quarantined zone wasn’t easy, but for Jesse McCree, it wasn’t impossible either. Even if he was dragging a seriously sick kid and his scowling brother along behind him. Though unable to speak and barely aware of his surroundings, Genji had enough strength to walk with his brother supporting him - even so, there wasn't a hope in hell they'd get him past the guards. So Jesse had led them carefully along the walls until he'd found an old, worse-for-wear storm drain, and led them through it to the city beyond. Dodging patrols and finding the building he needed was easy.

After he knocked and waited for a few moments – during which Hanzo hissed anxiously in Japanese – a blonde woman, roughly his own height and age, answered.

Her eyes widened. “… _Jesse?!_ ”

He grinned and tipped his hat. “Well, hey there, Angela. Long time no see.”

The surprise dropped into a frown, and Jesse faltered. “You said you would come visit me, Jesse! It’s been over ten years and I’ve heard nothing from you! You could have been _dead!_ Gott, Jesse, I was worried!”

“I know, I know,” Jesse rolled his shoulders, glancing down at his boots, “things’ve just been busy, is all. Y’know how it is.”

A cough from behind him interrupted their reunion.

“If you are quite finished…” snapped Hanzo, struggling to keep Genji on his feet.

Angela’s expression flicked immediately back to serious as she looked over the injured brother. “Bring him inside, quickly.”

They managed to get Genji inside and onto a couch, and Angela set to work checking him all over; she quickly found the bruised, purple wound on his shoulder. The purple bruising had spread quickly up his neck and across his chest - there was a good chance it was already close to his heart, which would explain why the boy was struggling so badly after just 24 hours. If the infection had hit his bloodstream, they’d already be too late.

“He got bit,” Jesse explained. “Thought you might be able to help.”

Angela grimaced. “We need to get him downstairs.”

Between Jesse and Hanzo, they were able to lift Genji and carefully carry him down a narrow set of stairs into what Jesse could only describe as a basement-sized hospital. His eyebrows shot up in surprise. There were a couple of hospital beds, an operating table, shelves full of medical supplies, a freezer room filled with Jesse-didn’t-want-to-know-what, and at the back, what seemed to be some sort of quarantine cell. “Shit, Ange,” Jesse breathed once they’d set Genji down on one of the beds, “how’d you manage to set all this up?”

She was hurrying around, digging through her supplies. “For my personal research,” was the only explanation she offered. As she shrugged on a lab coat, glasses and gloves, Genji gave a loud groan from the table.

Hanzo’s scowl deepened. “Doctor, can you help him?”

He shot a look to Jesse, who nodded. “If anyone can, it’s Ange. She’s a medical genius.”

“I’m not sure I’d go that far,” scoffed Angela, “but I have been doing a lot of research into finding a cure for the infection this past decade, and I think I may have the solution.”

Jesse turned his gaze back to Hanzo and tilted his head slightly to one side, giving him a look that said, _see?_ But Hanzo’s frown remained, dubious. Angela disappeared into the freezer room for a moment, and Jesse could hear bottles clinking. He shivered, uncertain whether it was from the cold or thoughts about what those containers might hold, then Angela re-emerged, and his wandering thoughts were snapped back.

“Here,” she announced, though she didn’t sound as confident as Jesse had hoped. In her hand was a vial that swirled with a golden liquid.

“This will fix Genji?” Hanzo asked, as the doctor returned to the boy’s side.

“Well, I’m not actually sure…” Angela’s eyes glanced to Genji, then the floor. “Though I have been searching for a cure for many years now, as of yet I’ve not been able to successfully cure any of my patients.” She lifted her gaze again, but when Jesse tried to catch it, she seemed to deliberately avoid him. “It may work, or… it may not.”

“And if it does not?”

Angela shrugged. “I’m afraid I don’t know. Nanites can… be difficult to predict. But this is the closest I’ve ever come to success. If it doesn’t work, then I fear there is no cure. Hanzo…” His eyes narrowed. “I will not administer the nanites without your consent. In your brother’s condition, he’s unable to consent for himself, so as his brother the choice passes to you.”

Though Jesse had expected Hanzo to consider the decision, he responded quickly.

“If we do not help him, he _will_ die. If we do help him, he _may_ die. The choice is clear to me. Give him the nanites.”

The older brother’s gaze did not leave Genji as Angela produced a needle, filled it with the golden liquid, and transferred it to Genji; Jesse had to look away as she pierced the arm near the wound, his neck, and his chest. “To speed up the process and give him the best chance,” he heard Angela explain, as he pretended to read the chemical symbols on some of her labelled containers. Just a few minutes later, and the bruising across Genji’s body had begun to lessen. Genji himself appeared to have drifted into an uncomfortable sleep, but the dark rings swamping his eyes were already fading, and his breathing seemed stronger.

All three of them released a long breath they didn’t realise they’d been holding.

“It’s working?” Jesse asked, having finally turned back around.

“I believe so,” Angela replied, allowing herself a smile. “We’ll watch him over the next few hours, but so far, so good.”

“Good,” repeated Hanzo, nodding. His eyes still didn’t leave Genji. “Thank you, Dr. Angela.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Her gaze flicked across to Jesse. “Do you mind if we talk, for a bit?”

“I’d love to.” Anything to get out of that room.

Leaving Genji under Hanzo’s careful watch, and with instructions to call her as soon as anything changed, Angela led Jesse back into her apartment and into her kitchen. She poured them both a glass of water – which Jesse gratefully accepted and eagerly drained – before making him a coffee. It had been years since he’d tasted anything so good, but his enjoyment of the warm beverage was hampered by the stony expression on Angela's face as she stared unhappily into her milky coffee. She hadn't said a single word.

It was Jesse who spoke first. “So, thought the story was that you already had the cure, or at least close enough to it. That ain’t so?”

Angela shook her head. “No.”

“What about you saving that fella, way back all them years ago?”

She gave a visible wince, and Jesse paused. Had that hit a nerve? He remained silent, waiting for her to explain the reaction, but she was hesitating. Whatever it was, she didn’t want to say it; perhaps she feared that saying it out loud would bring back to life something that she had thought dead and buried.

“I… didn’t quite save him,” she said eventually, quietly, not looking at him. “He had been infected, and it was spreading. He asked me to fix it, to do whatever I had to, but I… I didn’t even know where to start. I tried drugs that might slow the infection’s spreading rate – antibiotics, steroids, the like – then I got more desperate. Experimental drugs that I had access to, illegal drugs… I pumped just about everything I had into him.”

The coffee suddenly tasted foul on Jesse’s tongue as he swallowed. He set the half-empty cup aside.

“Hell, Angela, how’d you even get all that stuff? Did ya know what it would do to him?”

She shook her head. “I had no clue. But they slowed the infection. Ten days later, and he was still mostly human.”

“Ten days… _mostly_ human…? Angela, that…”

Most likely ignoring him, or trying to, she continued. “At last, the tests showed that the infection had ceased to spread. Even under rigorous exercise and high-stress conditions, his condition remained the same.”

Jesse thought of the quarantine cell in her basement, and shuddered.

“It was bizarre, Jesse,” Angela went on, sounding less upset than Jesse thought she ought to. “He was half alive, human… but also half undead. He had all his human cognition, but his body functioned like the undead creatures’. I was fascinated.”

“ _Fascinated?_ ” Jesse’s outburst seemed to startle her from her thoughts. “That would’a been horrifying, Ange! Can’t you imagine how awful that would’a been for him?”

Her eyes fell, guiltily. “It was a scientific breakthrough that could have solved the undead crisis… with the right testing…”

“Testing…?” Jesse’s heart sunk through his chest. “Oh no, Angela…”

“I had to.”

“He was a _person_ , Angela!”

“If I’d found a cure I could have saved millions of live, Jesse. _Millions_. Doesn’t that justify the pain of one?”

“No!” Jesse shook his head, feeling disgust rise in his throat. “No, it sure don’t!” He paused, breathed deeply, tried to calm down. “Angela… what tests did you do?”

“You don’t need to…”

“ _What tests?_ ”

After a moment, she met his gaze, and held it steadily. Her jaw was set, her lips pursed in a tight line, almost defiant.

“I had to take a number of samples. Blood samples, saliva, muscle tissue, spinal taps. I tested his physical resistance to stress, and his mental resistance. I experimented with his diet, observed how his body reacted to starvation. I tested his body’s response to various diseases and poisons…”

He had to interrupt again. “Angela,” his voice was firm, close to anger, “that is medical torture, and you know it.”

She looked away, hurt. “Of course I know.”

“And you did it anyway? To a damn person? A living, breathing person?”

“Half-living.”

“ _Angela!_ ”

She winced again. “At the time I… I was so… I thought it would be a chance to finally save lives, like I’d always wanted to. To make a _real_ difference. I… I may have gotten carried away, perhaps…”

“How long did this go on for?”

“Three months before he escaped.”

Jesse’s jaw dropped. “ _Three-?!_ Three months you put this guy through hell for… for medical _research_? To try and find a cure? _Three fucking months?_ And even then, even after all that, he had to _escape?_ You weren’t gonna let him go? _Fucking hell_ , Angela. I can’t believe this!”

When she spoke next, her voice wavered. “I did what I had to at the time, Jesse.”

“And was it worth it, huh? Did’ya find the secret to curing the undead?”

A long silence. Then, meekly: “no.” Her shoulders slumped, her eyes closed, a sob caught in her throat. “I’d tried so many medications that it was impossible to tell which had worked…”

Seeing her like that quickly soothed his anger. What she had done was wrong, Jesse wouldn't change his opinion on that, but at least she seemed to regret it, even if that regret sat under more layers of justifications and excuses than Jesse would have expected. He sighed.

“Who was the poor bastard, at least?”

Angela sniffed. Her body trembled with another sob. “I…” Her voice cracked, and she suddenly seemed to stiffen. She shook her head, huffed, regained control, and looked up at him. A stray tear rolled across her smooth cheek, and her eyes glistened. She tried to keep her voice as resolute as she could manage. “That is what I wanted to speak with you about. The man… He’s someone we knew.”

Jesse’s blood went cold in his veins. Every other thought in his mind was snuffed out. “No, Angela…”

“We once worked with him, that’s how he knew to find me…”

“Ange…”

She took a steadying breath. Another tear joined the first. “The man was your old boss, Gabriel Reyes.”

Jesse hadn’t realised how close he was to crying until he felt the burning tears searing down his face. His stomach lurched and he felt sick. His tongue felt thick, and words caught in his throat, tasting like bile. “Oh, _God_ , Angela… How… _How could you?_ ” More tears fell, peppering his hands and the tabletop they rested on. He felt dizzy.

Gabriel Reyes, his boss from the L.A Forensic Investigations Dep. The man that had pulled him out of the dirt and the drink when he was a teenager and helped him get his life back on track, who had later offered him a position in his department, who had been both a brother and a father to him. He’d been a pain the ass when he wanted to be, and had given Jesse hell more than once, but there’d always been a warm smile at the end of the day, or a hot cup of coffee waiting on his desk in the morning, or just a quiet look instead of an earful when a report got turned in a day late. He didn’t deserve what he’d gone through; hell, no one did, but especially not Gabriel.

It was a long time before Jesse had enough of a voice to speak again. “Is he…?”

“Still out there?” Angela’s voice was little more than a murmur. “I believe so.”

“And Jack?”

Jesse remembered Jack as well, a do-good hard-ass from some small country town who’d tried to act tough, and quickly been put in his place by Gabriel. Jesse and his boss had gone for coffee together a few weeks after Lieutenant Morrison had arrived, and Jesse had pestered Gabriel into admitting that he thought the blonde was cute. Months later, Gabriel had joked that Jesse would be the best man, if he and Jack ever got married.

“I don’t know,” Angela said, and he heard the truth in her voice. “Jesse… I need to ask you a favour.”

He frowned. “After that story? Fire away.” It was sarcasm, a low blow, and he regretted it instantly, but Angela didn’t react.

“If these nanites work on Genji, and can reverse the infection… I’m going to give you a vial of them, and ask you to find Gabriel and give the cure to him.”

Jesse’s brows lifted. “… Oh.”

“What I did… you’re right. It was wrong of me. And there’s nothing I can do to make it right. But, maybe, with the cure… perhaps Gabriel can finally have a future again.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, all his bitterness gone out of him. “I can do that.”

Angela left him to check on Genji, and he lost track of how long he stood leaning over the kitchen bench, staring out the window but not really seeing anything, thinking back on his time with Gabe, and trying to stifle the deep sense of loss and loneliness that was threatening to open up and consume him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So introduced a few more characters in this one, just a few more to go. I'd originally planned to have Ana and Jack return in this chapter, but it just got too long!  
> Also sorry this chapter took so long to write, I've started work on another OW fic that I'm really excited about, hopefully I'll have it posted on here soon!


	4. Odd Couples

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ana and Jack leave New York behind in search of their families. Jesse agrees to another proposition. Winston executes a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some fluff in this chapter!! Yayyy!!! Ok, well, there are memories of fluff. Sorry.  
> There's also some McReyes (in a friendship/mentor-crush sort of way) and hinted Widowtracer. And we meet two new characters! Had to chop Gabe's bit out of this chapter as it seemed a bit too long; he'll be back next chapter, though!
> 
> Also sorry it took me so long to post this chapter, life stuff and study have been really hectic lately. Hopefully I'll have the next chapter out soon. Thank you so much for reading this!!!

Jack had forgotten how much he liked being on the road. In better years, he and Gabe had gone on a few road trips together, sometimes with a destination in mind and sometimes without, just driving and seeing where the road would take them. All they’d needed was each other; they’d figure out the rest as they went. They’d been free. Nothing to care about, no work, no stress, just the road, the truck, and the two of them together, and Jack couldn’t imagine being any happier.

This wasn’t anything like that. There wouldn’t be any evenings where they sat on the hood of Jack’s truck, watching the sunset, their hands intertwined and resting their shoulders against one another’s. No quick dinners at fast food restaurants, when they’d giggle like children about getting chubby and try to steal each other’s fries. No cheap motels with showers just big enough for the two of them and beds that squeaked a little too much.

Jack shivered, and gave a sigh. In the passenger seat next to him, Ana shot him a look.

“Dwelling on things you shouldn’t?” she asked.

“Things that happened a long time ago.”

They’d been on the road for nearly two days. Leaving New York City had been spontaneous; when he’d arrived at the front gate two days ago, Ana had told him she was leaving to find her daughter, and she was dragging Jack with her. _“I’m not going to sit around here until I die, knowing my daughter could be out there, looking for me. I’m done with waiting, Jack. Do you believe Gabriel is still out there? Then you owe it to him to try and find him, just as I owe it to Fareeha.”_

Trading in some supplies had gotten them the truck, and they’d managed to fill a few jerry cans of dreggy petrol from abandoned old trucks or from getting lucky at a few service stations that hadn’t been drained dry. The rusted red pick-up reminded Jack of the truck he used to have; creaky doors, a gearstick that protested a little too much, the clunky steering wheel.

Maybe that’s why he kept remembering everything. There had been a pain in his chest and a twisting in his guts that just wouldn’t go away since they’d left. It wasn’t leaving the city that upset him. In fact, he was glad to get away from it, to get out and be on the move again, to break their dull routine. So what had him so nervous he couldn’t sleep, could hardly eat, could barely keep his thoughts together?

Was he afraid of not finding Gabriel? Or was he more afraid of finding him and learning the truth, of having to face the fact that, ten years ago, Gabriel had abandoned him?

The road rolled away beneath the wheels of the truck, but Jack’s attention was elsewhere. Thoughts of his partner flooded his mind again, the same questions he’d played over and over again every night for ten years, now assaulting his every waking moment. Why had Gabe left? Where had he gone? Why hadn’t he tried to find Jack? Why hadn’t he come to New York? Why had it taken Jack ten years to go looking for him? Why was he so afraid?

“Jack!”

He blinked, snapping back to the present. There was someone on the road, right ahead of them.

_“Shit!”_

His foot slammed down on the break. The truck groaned, and the wheels screamed in protest. Ana just braced herself against the dashboard in time to save a nasty knock against the front window. Jack’s chest slammed into the wheel, setting off the horn as the air was knocked from his lungs. The truck’s back wheels fish-tailed, swerved, and screeched as they lost traction. They spun wildly. The momentum of the spin threw Ana against him, the force knocking him sideways and slamming his head against the window, dazing him. He saw colours, heard ringing, couldn’t focus - for a moment, he blacked out, woke groggy and disoriented a moment later. The truck had stopped, and there was a hand on his arm, shaking him. A voice.

“Hey man, you alright? You hearin’ me?”

Not Ana’s. Someone young, male. Jack tried to look around. His neck groaned in protest and he blinked hard, trying to scatter the dancing flashes of red and blue.

“Wha-?” His voice was cracked, dry. He tasted metal – blood.

“Easy there, big guy, let’s get you looked at, come on.”

Hands guided him unsteadily from the truck; his knees buckled as he tried to stand. Must’ve hit his head pretty damn hard. As his vision finally started to clear, he found himself blinking up into the face of a young man with large, concerned brown eyes. They almost reminded him of Gabriel’s eyes for a moment, and his heart jolted. Then his sight focussed. Not Gabe at all.

“Who…Who’re you?” Jack realised he was lying on concrete. His whole body throbbed, particularly his chest and head. “Where’s Ana…?”

“Right here, Jack.” The kid leant back to reveal Ana standing over him, frowning. “I didn’t expect you to doze off behind the wheel.”

“I didn’t doze off, I…” He grunted as a wave of pain shot through his skull. “ _Shit._ ”

“Hey, hey,” the kid’s voice again. “Easy, man. You’ve knocked yourself up a bit, just take it easy while I check it out.”

“I’ll help.” Ana leaned down to join the young man as Jack became aware of a hot, sticky liquid on one side of his face; must be the blood he’d tasted. “I’ve got quite a bit of medical training up my sleeve, young man.”

“Oh really?” The kid looked over at her with a wide grin. “That’s sweet, I’m learning a bit of med stuff, too! You reckon you could teach me?”

Ana laughed. “We’ll see. Maybe once we get Jack looked at.”

As they chatted, Jack groaned. His senses came back to him slowly; the pain was first, followed by his vision, a strong taste of blood, then he was able to feel the rest of his body, a sore shoulder from where he’d been slammed into the door, his ribs ached but seemed unbroken. It took a few moments for Ana and the kid to clean and patch him up, using the sparse medical supplies they had pooled between them. A bad bump, some scratches from shattered window glass, and a bit of a concussion but so long as he didn’t push himself he’d be just fine.

Jack still reeled a little as he was helped up to his feet. “I feel like I’ve been hit by a train,” he grunted.

“And _that_ , kids, is why you wear a seatbelt!”

He looked up to see a young girl walking towards them, carrying a canteen. “Honestly. I know it’s like, a post-zombie-apocalypse wasteland out here but seriously, road rules are road rules. Like, oh yeah, _watching where you’re going!_ ”

Jack winced at her tone and gave a sheepish grimace. “Right. Sorry about that.”

“It’s cool, man, at least you didn’t hit us, so thanks.” The kid next to him grinned. “I’m Lucio, by the way. And my friend here is Hana.” She flashed them a peace sign. “We just kinda wander around doing whatever.”

“By yourselves?” Ana frowned. “You _do_ know how dangerous it is out here?”

“With the zombies? Sure.” Hana shrugged and handed the canteen to Jack; he heard the swish of water inside, and opened it eagerly. “But I’m pro with a pistol, and Lucio has a few tricks of his own.”

Ana shook her head. “Usually I would say you’re far too young such things, but with the world as it is these days, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Still, I can’t just leave you two out here all on your own. How would you like to come along with us?”

Jack nearly choked on the water he was gulping down. Lowering the canteen, he coughed a few times and got his breath back before trying to speak. “Ana…”

But Hana beat him to it. “Thanks, but we don’t really need babysitters – no offence. Besides, we’re heading to the Big Apple. We’ll be there in a few days.”

“New York? We just left it.” Jack handed the canteen over to Ana, who took it gratefully. “Not too bad there. Safer than the road, so long as you keep away from thugs.”

“I’ve dealt with zombies; thugs will be _ea-sy_!”

Jack gave a rasping chuckle. “Well, can’t argue with that, I suppose.”

When he tried to get the truck started again, the engine gave a few chugs before it clicked over and sputtered out. The next three tries were equally unsuccessful, so they gave up. Looks like they needed a new ride, or they’d be walking.

Lucio invited the pair of them over to the makeshift hideout he shared with Hana; it was a surprisingly well-kept basement furnished with a few sleeping bags and blankets, a number of filled and empty canteens, a generator and a computer. “No internet,” Hana explained when she caught Jack’s surprise. “But you can still play a few games.”

From a box of supplies, the two youngsters were able to pull together a decent meal of baked beans, canned tuna, and instant ramen. As Jack ate, he remembered how much he missed the taste of fresh vegetables, and couldn’t remember when he’d last experienced it. Not like he could afford to be picky, though.

The four of them, huddled under blankets to fend off the cold air of the basement, talked about recent encounters, with undead or otherwise, and what little news they had of the world. Hana and Lucio had heard a surprising amount in their travels, including tales of small farming villages formed in makeshift quarantine zone, underground secret research facilities, more than one ludicrous conspiracy theory, and – catching Jack’s attention – something about a mysterious vigilante who fought the undead on his own, keeping well away from populated areas; apparently, rumour had it that this vigilante was, in fact, an undead, who had turned on his own kind. Before Jack could ask for any more details, however, Hana went on.

“Oh yeah! Heard there’s this scientist or something trying to design a vaccine not too far from here,” she managed between mouthfuls of ramen. She’d cooked them by boiling a canteen of water over a stove powered by the generator. “But then I also heard he’s a gorilla, so, could be made-up.”

“Naw, man, it’s legit!” Lucio argued. “I found articles from way back, about these genetically enhanced gorillas. He’s gotta be one of those guys.”

“Ok fine, maybe he _is_ a gorilla, but that doesn’t mean he’s found a vaccine.”

“But he _might_ have.”

“Anyway,” Hana waved him off, “I also heard there’s these guys that specialize in – what did they call it? Oh yeah, ‘zombie removal’. Apparently they just blow stuff to bits.”

Ana frowned. “Unorthodox, but I suppose that would work. Tell me, have you heard anything about a girl named Fareeha Amari?”

Lucio shook his head. “Can’t say I have, ma’am. You know her?”

“She’s my daughter. I haven’t heard from her since the outbreak.”

Both their faces dropped instantly. “Oh, damn, I’m sorry…” “That’s awful…”

“It’s… hard, yes,” nodded Ana. “But I believe she’s still out there. That’s why I’m going to look for her.”

“Good for you!” Hana beamed. “I’ll bet she’ll be super happy to see you again!” Her bright eyes turned to Jack. “What about you? Are you Fareeha’s father?”

Jack felt himself turn crimson. “What?! No, no of course not!” The heat in his cheeks spread down his neck; he glanced away. “I’m… looking for my partner. Gabriel.”

Hana’s eyes widened a little. “Oh. Awww, that’s so sweet. How’d you get separated?”

Clearing his throat, Jack tried to settle his mad blushing; he was a grown man, for goodness’ sake! “We, uh… We were trying to get out of the city and… lost each other in the crowds.”

“Shit, man, that’s really sad.” Lucio looked to be genuinely on the verge of tears. “Breaks my damn heart. I really hope you guys find each other. And that you find your daughter, Ana.”

The older woman was shooting a glance at Jack; she knew the truth, knew that Jack was lying, but also knew better than to say anything in front of Lucio and Hana. It would come up again sooner rather than later, Jack guessed. She looked back at Lucio with a small smile. “Thank you.”

They decided to spend the night in the small basement. Ana talked through a few bit of her medical know-how with Lucio, who listened to her every word with such enthusiasm that even Ana seemed taken aback. Hana plugged herself into the computer, leaving Jack to sit on one of the old sleeping bags and think.

When night fell, even despite feeling safe and warm, he hardly slept for more than a few minutes at a time.

When morning finally rolled around, the old truck still wouldn’t work, and neither would any of the other cars they tried nearby. Looks like they’d be walking, at least for a little while. Jack and Ana parted reluctantly from their newfound friends, wishing them the best of luck on their way to New York, as well as telling them which towns or parts of the road to avoid, where they had a good chance of finding food and water, and what to do when they reached the gates.

“Tell them you ran into Jack and Ana,” Jack was telling them, “and that you’re clean, no infections or anything. They should let you in. There’s an apartment in Zone B, Ana’s old place. Probably still empty.”

“Thanks, man.” Lucio shook his hand. “And hey, I hope you find Gabriel out there. You look like you could use a happy ending, you know?”

“Thanks, kid. In a world like this, I think we all could.”

They waved their goodbyes before setting off in different directions down the silent highway, assuming that, as people usually did these days, they’d never see each other again. It was easy to lose people in the endless wasteland of what used to be the USA; it was finding them again that was the hard part.

 

\-----

 

In what McCree would call the miracle of the century, Genji pulled through. Two days later and, under Angela’s close watch, he was up and walking around again. Talking, laughing, cracking bad jokes; Jesse took to him right away. Nowhere near as serious as his brother, who seemed to be both relieved and anxious about Genji’s recovery. Hanzo had hardly gone near Genji since he’d woken up, and when Jesse dared to ask him about, he was brutally shot down. Better to keep his mouth shut, then. He didn’t mention anything to Genji about it; if Hanzo’s behaviour was any indicator, it was an issue for the brothers and no one else. Besides, Jesse had done his job, had helped save Genji’s life, and now his involvement with the two of them would be over. He tried to ignore the pang of disappointment at the idea.

“I feel better than I ever did, Dr. Ziegler!” Genji was saying as he jumped enthusiastically from foot to foot. “Come on, race me, Jesse!”

“Now, Genji, you need to take it easy.” Angela stilled him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. “And please, call me Angela.”

“Thank you, Angela,” he grinned, bowing his head. “Thank you for saving me. You truly are a miracle worker.”

“Oh, I’m not sure about that…”

Her eyes flicked to Jesse briefly then away to the floor, looking suddenly guilty. She hadn’t forgotten their conversation from a couple of days ago, or the look Jesse had given her when he’d learned the horrific extent of her research. Good. But another part of him did feel bad. She’d only wanted to help people.

Even if it meant torturing their friend.

Another pang; sorrow with a flash of anger. He swallowed it down like a pill.

“Ya’ll can race me some other time,” he told Genji.

The green-haired boy nodded at him before Angela mentioned something about checking his heart rate and led him away. Left to his own devices, Jesse contemplated having a snoop around Angela’s lab before deciding against it with a shiver. There was shit down there he just didn’t want to know about. Instead, he returned to the kitchen and boiled himself some coffee. Nothing like caffeine to settle a wandering mind, right? He huffed.

The coffee was black and bitter, even with two teaspoons of sugar, but Jesse knew it would be a long time before he tasted it again and savoured every sip. He wandered out to Angela’s front porch and settled on one of the chairs, watching a few kids playing baseball on the otherwise deserted street; good to see people were still making the most of their screwed up world. As he’d feared, the coffee set him off on a new string of thoughts, and, with nothing better to do, he let himself tumble down the rabbit hole.

Old memories greeted him. The first time he’d met Gabriel Reyes, being scared shitless by the man’s scowl but too much of a punk to show it; he’d been a rebel and an arse in his younger days. But Gabriel had known how to handle kids like him, how to keep him in line without trying to control him, how to dole out just enough approval to keep him looking for more. Before long, he’d gotten the hang of being a detective, and wasn’t too bad at it. Of course, with a mentor like Gabriel, it was hard to be bad at anything. Gabriel had a knack for knowing what people were like, what they’d be thinking or feeling, how they operated. He was clever like that. Really, it was no wonder he’d read Jesse like a book.

And Jesse hadn’t minded - the two of them soon became thick as thieves. After Jack had shown up, Jesse had been jealous of the obvious spark between the two men; foolish of him, and damn stupid, but Jesse had always been a little foolish, and often stupid – as Gabriel would point out. He remembered when they’d gone out together one night, he and Gabriel, to grab a few drinks, and Jesse had admitted his jealousy. Gabe had roared so hard with laughter he’d nearly fallen off his chair.

“How’s that old song go? _Should’a put a ring on it?_ Sorry, _cabrón_. You’re cute but not really my type."

Jesse had come around in the end, when he realised Jack wasn’t so bad, and when he saw how happy he made Gabriel, how the blonde made him smile and laugh more warmly than Jesse had ever managed.

“Jesse.”

He’d been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t even heard Hanzo step out onto the porch; Jesse jumped with a yelp, spilling lukewarm coffee onto his knee. “Shit!”

Hanzo scowled. “What?”

“Ya’ll surprised me. Didn’t hear you walk out here or nothing.” He dabbed at the wet mark on his jeans with his shirt. It’d stain, but at least it was coffee this time, and not blood like the others.

Hanzo just grunted and sat down on a chair next to Jesse, glaring out at the street. “You are foolish. I could have been an undead.”

“But you ain’t.” Jesse managed a grin despite his still twinging nerves. “Asides, this is L.A. Ain’t no undead can get in here.”

“You got Genji in.”

That caught Jesse by surprise. He frowned. “You’re brother ain’t undead.”

“He _nearly_ was.”

“But he’s not, thanks to yers truly.”

Hanzo’s scowl deepened; any more severe, and Jesse thought he’d solidify that way, a marble monument of disapproval. He wondered if Hanzo ever smiled.

“That… is true,” began Hanzo, hesitant. “I have been meaning to thank you, for assisting my brother and I.”

“Don’t sweat it, hun.” He looked a little startled at the endearment, and Jesse laughed. “Sorry, just a habit, I guess.”

The other man nodded and continued. “You agreed to help us when no one else would. Because of you, Genji’s life… was saved. I cannot ever repay you for that.”

“Ain’t expecting you to.” Jesse fished out a cigarillo from his pocket followed by his lighter. He could feel Hanzo watching him as he lit it and puffed small clouds of smoke before inhaling. “You ain’t indebted to me or nothing, ok? Just call it a favour.”

“If you expect nothing in return, then why did you help us?”

Jesse blew out a grey plume, watched it wind its way skyward before vanishing. “Well, I’ve never been good at saying no to a pretty face.” He smirked, shooting a sideways glance at Hanzo, who blinked. His expression was unreadable; as usual.

There was silence for a moment during which Jesse berated himself for being a damn flirt, but when Hanzo spoke again, it was as though he hadn’t heard the comment at all.

“I know it is wrong of me, but I must ask another favour of you, McCree.”

"Jesse is easier, just call me that. Anyway, fire away, sweetheart.”

Another jolt at the name, then the scowl returned. “Of course. My brother and I were visiting this country when the outbreak occurred,” he glanced away, “and we found ourselves trapped here. Wherever we went, there was no one that could take us home.”

Jesse nodded. “They cleared out every damn plane on the continent getting the _important_ folk to safety.”

“Yes. As such, my brother and I have been unable to return to Japan.”

“Shucks, never thought o’ that,” frowned Jesse. “Darn tough break.”

“I… would say so.”

Hanzo tilted his head a little, and Jesse felt a surprising stammer in his chest. It was like he’d only just noticed the proud arch of Hanzo’s eyebrows, the wisps of grey sneaking amongst his dark hair, the neatly groomed stubble of his sharp chin and jaw. He found himself fighting to bring his attention back to Hanzo’s words.

“That brings me to the favour I must ask.”

“Oh, yeah.” Jesse cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “Shoot. Uh, that is, what’s the favour?”

Hanzo was looking away again. “I have heard that, if there is anyone that might be able to help us get home, they will be at New York City.”

“Makes sense. Aside from L.A, it’s the only quarantined city left, and the biggest.”

“Yes, which is why Genji and I must go there. But, Mc- Jesse. You are born in this country, and know it better than we do.”

“Yeah…”

“You have helped us once, but now I must ask you to help Genji and I reach New York City. I had thought the two of us were able to handle the undead on our own, but… I now know that to be false.” Jesse caught him grimace and sigh. “You know the way there, and I have heard you are a shooter of some skill. Your company would be invaluable.”

“Well, my company’s been called many things, but never ‘invaluable’. I’m flattered.”

Hanzo shot him a look; while not warm, it wasn’t entirely hostile, either. “Will you help us?”

Jesse grinned, biting down on the cigarillo’s end. “Y’know what? Sure. I’ll tag along.” The words were out before he’d had a chance to think the decision over, but he’d never been afraid of trusting his gut. This time, however, he thought he maybe should have used his head. Going back down to Santa Fe, back to his old routine, was a good way to keep himself relatively safe. Heading east, right through the most infested parts of the country where there were hardly any survivors at all and no quarantine zones: that was a damn good way to get himself killed. But, he remembered, he’d already made a promise to Angela. This way, there was a good chance he could carry that promise out, and he’d get to keep the Shimada brothers around. Two birds.

“It’d be my pleasure,” he said, tipping his hat.

Hanzo seemed surprised. “Truly?”

“Sure thing. Santa Fe was getting mighty boring, anyhow.”

“How can my brother and I thank you for your help? Surely this is not just another favour.”

With a puff of his cigarillo and a grunt, Jesse rose from his chair. Grinning again, he looked down at Hanzo, eyes glinting under the shadow of his hat. The other man watched him carefully, with an intensity in his gaze that Jesse wasn’t sure what to make of. He supposed he’d never really make sense of a man like Hanzo.

“Tell ya what, y’can thank me with a kiss on the cheek, if it please ya.”

Hanzo’s eyes widened and he straightened in his seat. He blinked once, twice. The surprise was clear enough, but Jesse suspected there were other emotions in there as well, too subtle for him to make out. He laughed, a rumbling, throaty chuckle.

“Naw, I’m only kiddin’.” He removed the cigarillo, expelling smoke with a contented sigh. “’Sides, you shouldn’t be thanking me until we get there. An’ who knows, by that time ya might wanna gimme a smooch after all.” He winked, tried not to grin too widely as the surprise remained on Hanzo’s sharp, handsome features for a moment before dropping back into the scowl, stubbed the cigarillo out under his boot, and went back inside, spurs clicking. It was only once he’d reached the kitchen that he realised he’d left his half-finished coffee outside.

 

\-----

 

The trap was set. Winston had gone over the plan so many times that Lena could still hear his deep, rumbling voice in her head, dissecting every miniscule detail, making sure there would be no mistakes. Lena hadn’t thought it was all that complicated; but then again, it was just like Winston to find risks where there should be none. Part of being a scientist, she supposed.

The plan was, despite Winton’s fears, simple: a trap had been set in the old warehouse near the lab, Lena would gain the attention of a few undead and lead them right on top of it, then Junkrat would trigger it – once Lena was in the clear – and they’d have their captive zombies. Junkrat had assured them, amongst a good number of cusses and heavily accented phrases that Lena couldn’t quite understand, that the trap itself was foolproof. “Nah worries mates, she’s a deadset ripper; a real beaut.”

He and Winston had gone over the logistics of it, but all Lena had really gotten from it was something about an exploding trap door ( _just a little explodey_ ) and a pit underneath it. And that she needed a good lead on the undead if she didn’t want to up in there with them. She shivered.

Lena had always been a fast runner; today, she’d need to be. This had better be worth it. She sat cross-legged on the roof of a burnt-out car that had probably been there for the past decade, waiting for the signal. It was still early in the morning; the sun was only just peering over the rooftops. Junkrat had called it _sparrow’s fart_. What that meant, she had no idea, but she thought Roadhog had laughed; or maybe he’d just coughed, it was hard to tell with the mask.

A small flash caught her eye, making her blink. She raised a hand and waved it. The signal. Time to get started. Lena took a deep, steadying breath, checked the laces on her shoes, and slid quietly down from her perch. Why the old supermarket made such a good home for the undead, Lena wasn’t too sure; not like they ate food or drank water or anything. But she was supposed it was large, dark, and not too warm, and that was good enough for them. Quietly, step-by-tip-toeing-step, she approached the entrance.

The easy part: getting their attention. Even before she reached the defunct automatic doors, they could smell her. Lena heard the pants and snuffles, the low growls, a keening call. A shudder run through her entire body and fear shot through her skin, turning it icy. Her nerves prickled, electric. Another deep breath. She could see the stooped, discoloured figures shuffling towards her, could smell their decaying flesh, heard their rattling grunts and groans.

The hard part: not getting caught. Instincts overcame her. She spun on her heel, pushed off hard from the concrete, and bolted. She’d sprinted a few hundred metres before she brought her pace under control; steady, don’t tire yourself early, still a way to go. And she needed one hell of a good sprint to finish. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the undead loping awkwardly after her, surprisingly fast for such ungainly creatures. Then her eyes were back on the road ahead of her, watching for every bump or crack, every piece of debris littering her path, anything that could trip her up or slow her down and doom her to a grizzly end.

Her steady jog kept her far enough ahead that she could only just hear the sounds of their rotted feet slapping the concrete and their hungry growls, but close enough that the undead wouldn’t give up or lose track of her. Sometimes she found herself needing to speed up, and other times, very reluctantly, having to slow down. In all, the run covered a handful of blocks, and then she was approaching the warehouse. She waved again. At the edge of the warehouse’s roof, she could just see the large shape of Winston's frame; he waved back, then turned away.

Once she was through the open double-doors of the warehouse, she sprinted. The undead had gotten close enough behind her that she could smell them again, and hear the brush of what little clothing remained on their bodies. Too close. Fear drove her on, but exhaustion held her back; she’d run too fast, worn herself out too quickly. She’d only sprinted a few metres before her legs started to burn and she felt acid build up in her knees. Every breath scalded her throat and lungs. From the corner of her eye, she saw Winston joining Roadhog and Junkrat, hiding on the raised steel walkway, looking worried. Too close, too close. Panic set in.

For a moment, just long enough for her to pick up her momentum, it dulled the pain and fatigue. Her feet slammed the hard floor, clanked loudly over the edge of the trap, clanked again over the other edge a few moments later. A loud breath of relief; she was clear. She looked over her shoulder. Her heart dropped. It wasn’t right, they were too spread out. With a flash of fear she realised it wouldn’t work. Then her ankle twisted painfully underneath her.

Lena hit the ground hard and skidded. Concrete rasped across her skin, grazing her arms and face, ripping through material. Simultaneously, there was a blast. The sheer roar of sound deafened her, and the shockwaves sent pulses down into her bones, shoving the air from her lungs. The ground shook. She gasped. Ringing filled her eyes. Panic was screaming in her head, shouting at her, forcing her to get to her feet, stumbling as her ankle gave way. There was yelling above the ringing. She spun, fell, tried to get up, blinked. She was looking towards the trap.

And she’d been right. The undead were too spread out, and when the trap had gone off, not all of them had fallen in. A few stragglers, maybe half a dozen, were quickly recovering from the blast’s shockwaves, and had their sights set on her. _Run, run, RUN!_

But she couldn’t. Lena tried, but every time her ankle collapsed, and her knees scraped the concrete. Her entire body burned and trembled. They were coming towards her now, black-eyed and bloody, red and purple ghouls shuffling choppily around the pit, horribly fast. She hadn’t realised she was crying until the sob caught in her throat. Winston was yelling, telling her to get out of there. Even Junkrat was shouting something. Lena shut her eyes. Done for.

A metal clink on the ground in front of her. She opened her eyes just as a fine, purple mist bloomed between her and the undead. Deceptively pretty; the gas stung her eyes, singed her nose, and she gagged. Hot, painful tears flooded from her eyes, and her stomach rolled. But she could hear the undead shrieking, wailing, in just as much pain as she was, if not more. Then a large hand had her arm, and dragged her unceremoniously free of the vapor. Her eyes hurt too much to open them, but she recognised Winston’s rumbling cough.

“Lena, _hrrgh_ , are you alright? Lena!”

Her voice was raw when she tried to speak, the mist still hovering in her lungs. She rolled onto her stomach and coughed it out with enough force that she nearly made herself sick. Over the sound of her own hacking and gagging, she heard the sharp blasts of a sniper rifle. Was it…?

Heels on concrete. Lena blinked her teary eyes open, searching through the blur.

“Just in the nick of time, love,” she croaked, and was rewarded by a rich, purring chuckle.

“One day, _cherie_ , I won’t get here in time to save you.”

“Save me?” Another weak cough. “Is that what you call blasting me with a venom bomb, eh, Amelie?”

Her vision cleared just in time to catch the woman’s smirk. “That was your own fault.”

After some water, both for her eyes and her throat, and a few minutes’ rest, Lena finally felt like she was no longer on the verge of death. She still trembled slightly from the terror of how close she’d come to getting killed, but once she knew that the loose undead had been picked off by Amelie’s sharp sniping and the rest of the undead were securely confined in the deep pit Junkrat had designed, her nerves settled. A little. She could still hear the trapped creatures grunting and shuffling around.

“They’re good an’ trapped down there, right love?”

“Ah, sure!” Junkrat grinned. “Buggers ain’t smart enough to get out o’ there. An’ even if they were, I’ve rigged it with a second bomb… for emergencies only, o’course.”

Amelia arched a perfect brow. “Dare I ask why you are trying to _catch_ undead?”

The question was directed at Winston; only _he_ would come up with an idea of that sort, and Amelie knew it as well as Lena did. “I need to run a few trials on a potential cure. Plus a few new samples wouldn’t hurt.”

That seemed to spark something, as Amelia suddenly gave a wry grin. “Ah, _oui_ , that reminds me. I have a gift for you.”

“Oh?” Lena smiled and clapped her hands together. “Crumpets an’ tea? A nice bit of jewellery maybe?”

Amelie reached into the pouch at her hip and removed a small vial from it, holding it out for Winston’s eager inspection. It contained a dark liquid that Lena guessed, with a shiver, was probably blood. “This should prove quite fascinating. I obtained it from a… man, who claimed to be half undead.”

“ _Half_ undead?” Winston scowled, turning the vial over in his large hands. “Is that even possible?”

“Well, he looked undead, and smelled a little like the undead,” she wrinkled her nose, “but he was faster than any undead I’ve seen, and could speak.”

The scientist’s eyebrows shot up at that. “That is fascinating, indeed. It’s a shame you couldn’t have brought him in. I suppose you…”

“I let him go.” She smirked when Winston and Lena both seemed surprised. “He was rather a gentleman about the whole thing and claimed to be clearing undead out of abandoned cities. Felt wrong to kill him.”

Lena pouted. “Sounds chivalrous an’ all, but next time, would you mind picking something up for _me_? Like, I dunno, flowers, or something?”

Amelie flicked her ear with a _tsk_. “Just be glad I don’t decide to kill _you_ for being an ungrateful nuisance.”

In retort, Lena stuck her tongue out. Winston was too busy inspecting his new sample to tell either of them off.

Behind them, Junkrat shot a look at Roadhog. “An’ folks think _we’re_ odd.”

**Author's Note:**

> I generally get my zombie ideas either from the game "the Last of Us" (seriously amazing game btw) or the movie "I Am Legend" (also very good). Most of the zombie biology I've thought up myself, not really based on too much medical evidence, but I tried not to be too unrealistic. Then again, this is zombies we're talking about. If anyone has any suggestions or would like to see more/less of anything, let me know. It's gonna take a chapter or two but it's gonna get good I promise, please hang in there.
> 
> If you want to follow me on tumblr, my accounts are dragonace713 (main) and keepcalm-reapon (Overwatch). Thanks for reading!


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